In This Life
by Kate Moore
Summary: BLOOD DIAMOND "In another life, maybe," said Danny Archer to Maddy Bowen, although they both longed for an alternative. If circumstances had been different, perhaps the smuggler and the journalist could have had a chance to follow their hearts...
1. Prologue

Part of me inherently knows that the death of Danny Archer was inevitable (perhaps because Leonardo DiCaprio has quite a knack for dying). However, another part of me longed for some sort of justification for the obvious feelings between Maddy and Archer. I realize that the film is a beautifully depicted, albeit tragic, cliffhanger (in terms of love), but I had to answer the question of 'what if' in my own way. I know all of you were wondering as well, so hopefully this does our characters justice. I hope you enjoy this, as I have enjoyed composing it.

_What might have been…_

Prologue

Maddy Bowen

Cape Town

From the second I saw him across that bar, I knew that _he_ was that missing void. Sure, I see plenty of excitement- that's why I do what I do. Even when I was a kid, though, I was still the same hopeless romantic that my adventurous spirit masks so well. I'm around men all day long, many of them tall, strong and appealing…with accents…but before he even spoke I knew that he was different. Even when he _did_ speak (and of course, with _that _exotic lilt) he had an air of cynicism, but, given his 'Rhodesian' state of mind, I came to the conclusion that anyone born and raised in one of many African war zones would be just the same. That was what drew me to him. I once told him he was a hard case; he shrugged me off and kept his reasons buried until I pried at his heart. He opened up to me, and now I know.

Now, safe under my supervision, I catch glimpses of his lost childhood every day as he becomes more and more the love of my life. Although he lies asleep much of the time (I don't blame him…plus, it's become a hobby of mine to admire him as he doses), I adore watching him dress when he decides to get out of bed. The man cannot manage to get a shirt buttoned up without missing one…or two. When I bring the mismatch to his macho attention, his little tantrum is priceless, and I get the best end of the deal; he'll just give up and leave it unbuttoned all day. With such quirks, I sometimes forget that the man has such precision with a machine gun.

For now, I just like to forget about all that. He's here with me, and he's safe…his wounds will heal. Now that it's just us, we have to start all over again without all the 'T.I.A.' nonsense. As much as both of our lives have been bound to the local humanity, we both agree that if we're going to work something out, we need to get away and just be bound to each other for a while. Neither of us can complain about that. Maybe it's selfish in terms of the moral backdrop I've created for myself, but I dare say that I love this man, and that taking care of him is worth all the effort and tenderness that I put into the job.

Maybe that's why I'm here writing about him- writing is the only way I know how to gather substantial thoughts. I know that soon he won't be dependent on my care. He's a quick healer and a stubborn one at that. It's as though he wants desperately to return my tenderness, but he hasn't a clue of how. He's an orphan; he has no memory of ever being held or comforted, so returning the sentiment is a lesson that I'll have to teach him along the way. Sometimes he wakes up in the night and calls for me fearfully. "I just had a bad dream. I'm sorry I woke you, Maddy" he'll whisper back, his tone somewhat hard and embarrassed. "It's alright, everything's ok. Come here," I whisper, and after searching my eyes for a moment, he'll cling to me with all the strength in him, like a child frightened by the thunder. I can see in his eyes that he wonders if he even deserves my love. I tell him through words and actions that, "Yes, I love you, and I will not stop loving you." He's changed; a moment of love, as Benjamin told him, even in a bad man can be redeeming. We talk about this when we sit out on the balcony. He asks me if God will forgive him. All I can do is tell him that _I_ know there is goodness in him. Solomon knows it, and God knows his family does too. I say, "God has an awful lot of witnesses on your side, Archer." (He's only 'Danny' when I find him curled up in my arms during the night). "I'm sure he'd listen to us all." He seems satisfied with my answer, and I squeeze his hand that has been virtually attached to mine since the day we got him off the hill.

The turbulent sea in his eyes subsides, and he looks over to me and asks, "What's New York like, Maddy?" This little bit of innocence is beautiful. I tell him, "You'll find out for yourself. I'll show you everything." Again, he is satisfied, and he begins the tale of all the dreams he had as a boy…before he was _forced_ to grow up and leave all hope of a future behind. "I always knew I'd be a soldier, but I never thought it would come to this. Really, I don't know if I'm good at anything but knocking out R.U.F. and getting caught smuggling rocks, huh?"

_You're very good at driving me absolutely insane…in a good way_, I muse as he gazes out at the enigmatic meeting of the Atlantic and the Indian. From our elevated bungalow vantage, the two come together in a fury, one a deep turquoise and the other a lighter gray hue. Where they meet, the colors intertwine brilliantly forming a spectacularly fierce blue. It reminds me so much of his eyes. I can't imagine being here alone, not being able to see those eyes again. He almost became a lost memory, a photograph enclosed by my words in a silly magazine. Somehow, and thank God, stubborn Archer managed to hold on until I got to him…


	2. Chapter 1: Found

Chapter 1: Found

Chapter 1: Found

_I remember: _"You should get on that plane," he said softly, poorly masking the lack of confidence in his request. I didn't want to, not in the least. He hesitantly took my wrist in his hand and shook it gently; it was his own warped improvisation of some sort of hug (tenderness was not his specialty back then). He repeated himself, "You should get on that plane," and I (mimicking that uncharacteristic tone of voice) countered, "So should you." If he had gotten on that plane with me, maybe everything would have been fairy-tale perfect from that point on. Somehow, though, I think I'll always prefer the _real_ story. The real story has plenty of struggle, fear, and pain, and both of us may always endure twinges of horrific memories. In the end, all of that makes the love that grew and surpassed all the sweeter.

"I wish you were here, Maddy," he said to me, his voice cracking as his body fought to stay alive. "Alright, then I'm coming to be with you," I shot back while trying desperately to stay on my feet despite trembling that had overcome all my senses. As soon as the words left my mouth, I forced my legs to catch a cab to the airport. I knew a media jet would be leaving in the evening, and I would be on that plane. "I'm really glad I met you…" As soon as Archer dropped the phone, I forced myself to keep going. _He'll be alright. He's so strong, he's going to make it. _Thank God for the connections I have. There were still two UN representatives left at Kono, and it was rather helpful to find their cell numbers on speed dial. I arranged for a search group to trace the GPS coordinates of Archer's call to my phone and head in that direction. Those men _must _be angels, for as soon as my plane landed at the Kono base, I received news that several civilians who were familiar with the hills had left camp in the helicopter in search of a left-behind mercenary. (That _story_ would hopefully buy some time…because somehow I knew that Archer, not the rebels, had probably taken out the whole company by himself).

I am _not _a fidgety or impatient person, but I cannot recall another time in my life when I have been such a wreck. Archer makes me a living _wreck,_ but, then again, I have somehow managed to soften him, to show him that it's alright to feel vulnerable and to be loved. Solomon made him quit smoking, so maybe the man can be manipulated into a 'normal' human being…one I become more and more attached to daily.

After several hours of pacing the camp, the familiar roar of the helicopter rang nearer and nearer. I camped out at the landing strip and stood still until the cabin door opened, at which point I was jolted back into my senses by the noise of my own feet hitting the ground as I ran toward the open door. Guess who came stumbling through the frame between the grip of two civilians. As I neared, the seriousness of the situation dawned on me. The strongest, most stubborn man I knew was being dragged along by two other men, and he wasn't yet aware of my presence because he could hardly hold his head up. His clothes were tattered and soaked in sweat and mud. His entire left side was covered in blood- I prayed that it wasn't his own. My flying feet first came into his view, and he must have known it was me, because he finally lifted his eyes. "Maddy," he breathed. "I told you I would get here," I managed. He nodded, a hopeful look in his eyes. Overtaking that look was the pain. I relieved one of his escorts and wrapped an arm snuggly around his waist to keep him from toppling.

That's when both of us _knew._ The instant we touched again I think it was clear that "…in another life, maybe" was no longer an option. We were meant to be together _in this life. _ He seemed to relax a bit in my reassuring grip. We made our way to the medic's tent where the doctor and his team swarmed around Archer. Somewhere amidst the chaos, I was escorted out. I arranged for the two of us to be flown off the base as soon as possible…to Cape Town. There were still several families of foreign nationals to be evacuated from the base, and we would be among them on their flight to the safe haven of South Africa. He would be safe there until he was healed. Plus, the magazine's African headquarters were based in the city- I would use the connection to find us a place to stay. Once that was settled, I had nothing to do but sit and worry. _Will he pull through this? I can't lose him now. If we get to Cape Town, what will happen? Will we even get along under normal circumstances? Does he even care to be with me? I can't lose him now. _After a couple of miserable hours of waiting and nearly-suffering, the medic's head appeared outside the makeshift care unit, and his stare met my eyes. I silently entered the tent and was led to a dark corner where I could make out a sleeping figure covered with a single blanket. He appeared to be dosing peacefully, but I was informed that as soon as the morphine drip wore off, he would be awake and screaming for more. "He's lucky to be alive. The bullet nearly pierced the lung. It will be painful to breathe for a few weeks, but he will heal," the doctor said optimistically. I was relieved but still horrified. The only man I could possibly see myself building a life with (ironically) was alive but _lifeless_. It was late, and the medic and his team were ending their night's work (with many having been evacuated, Archer was the only patient). I had to get him out before a connection was made between the living smuggler and the bodies of the colonel and the company…or worse yet, living witnesses of the whole incident.

Quietly, I drug one of the surrounding cots to where he slept so that the two mattresses were touching. If I couldn't hold him like I desperately wanted to, I would stay as close to him as I could. Despite the circumstances, I still felt safe. It must have been the realization that Archer was alive and that we had fulfilled our promise to one another. I told him I'd come to be with him; he fought to stay alive. As soon as we got to Cape Town, we could start over. That inkling of hope was all I could cling to. I found his hand under the blanket and held it firmly in my own as I drifted off into a light sleep.


	3. Chapter 2: Flight

Chapter 2: Flight

Chapter 2: Flight

Sometime during the night, I felt my own hand trembling. I opened my eyes and found that the source of the trembling was the figure next to me. I propped myself on my elbow, eager to determine his condition. Taking a moment to focus, he gazed up at me and breathed my name. Moving closer to him, I laid my hand on his forehead and was shocked by the heat. "It's so damn cold," he managed. I immediately went into survival mode and stripped my cot (and the closest one to it) of sheets and blankets. I was sure that he had hypothermia and maybe even the onset of pneumonia. I wasn't going to let it get any further than that; he would never suffer again if I had anything to do with it. I diligently swaddled him in all the sheets and got under several blankets next to him. At that point, I could have cared less about what was going through his mind; I was going to get into that bed with him no matter what. (We would later laugh about the incident, and he would reveal to me how, even in his drugged, incapacitated state, he was _quite_ aware of my grip on him). "Better?" was all I could manage in the awkwardness of our intertwined bodies. He nodded drearily and weakly squeezed my hand that he had laid over his chest.

I'm not sure how much I actually slept that night. I do know that the majority was spent in staring at him and reassuring myself that his heart was still beating under my palm. I awoke around sunrise and was relieved to find him sleeping peacefully and without any sign of pain in his face; much of the color had returned to his cheeks. I slipped out of bed and found the medic. "Your plane has arrived Ms. Bowen. We should prepare Mr. Archer for the flight." I agreed and returned to his bedside to attempt to wake him gently. I took his hand in mine and lightly kissed his wrist. "It's time to go, Archer. We're going to get out of here," I said quietly as he blinked and adjusted to the light. "We've got to catch our flight, alright?" "What the hell would I do without you," he whispered, eyes still closed. I giggled and gently patted his chest. "You'd freeze to death, I think" I replied, not even wanting to think about _that_ happening. At that point, two soldiers appeared with a long wooden board that they would use to carry Archer to the plane. "Ah, fuck, I'd rather walk." I couldn't help but smile and think to myself, _I sure missed that mouth._

As soon as the crew managed to get him on the plane and into a makeshift bed (the removal of the armrest between two seats, an assortment of blankets and pillows, and the fully reclined position), he was given an oversized swig of 'Jack Daniels,' which knocked him out almost immediately. As the plane took off, I tried to make myself comfortable in the remaining seat next to him. The base became a tiny black spot among emerald hills, and my attention returned to the sleeping figure next to me. I reached out to place my hand on his forehead once again and discovered that the heat had subsided immensely. Satisfied and already eager to land, I went over the plan that I had crafted the night before. _We'll be picked up and brought to the American embassy. From there, I'll call headquarters and arrange a place to stay. Will they question his identity? I'll say he's another journalist (after all, he's already played that game). I'll explain how he was salvaged from the press convoy that, realistically, only we had survived. They won't care. I'm the only one (beside Archer himself) that knows who really killed the colonel. They won't suspect anything there. I'll pay someone from headquarters to go pick up some clothes, food, and necessities. I won't do it myself; I won't do anything that calls for me to leave his side. _Somewhere amidst those thoughts, I fell asleep.

We both awoke several hours later when we felt wheels on solid ground; we had finally landed. "Maybe you should get shot more often," I joked as his condition enabled us to skip customs and the maze of security duties. "Ja, ja. As long as you keep me warm every night I wouldn't complain." We shared a quiet laugh as I led him through the airport and to our waiting car. Once he was in, I assessed his condition; having to walk had induced a sort of asthma-like reaction. "I'm alright," he choked as I rubbed his back. Soon after catching his breath, he began to nod off once again. There's a characteristic lack of comfort in a South African Land Rover…especially for those with gunshot wounds and the accompanying aches and pains. When he struggled to sit upright, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and pulled him nearer. "Here," I stated, motioning toward my available shoulder as a softer alternative for his aching head. He complied and began to relax a bit. Of course, I was satisfied- he was safe, and even better, he was safe in my arms.

The car pulled up to a one-story building on the outskirts of the city after about an hour's drive. I assured the driver that I'd return shortly and looked upon the recently awakened Archer deep in the eyes as if to say, "Don't you move an inch." Upon entering the building, I was greeted by a secretary. Having heard my entrance, the director, obviously expecting me, appeared in a doorway across the brightly lit hallway. "Hello, Ms. Bowen. We've received your message." I held my breath as I waited for him to continue. "…And we'd be happy to accommodate you for the time being. I've arranged a suite for you, and you should be quite pleased with the view." Internally, I was on my knees kissing the man's feet, but outside, I was my typical, composed self. Thankful that I could still manage some self-control, I became aware of how rampant my emotions had become. Maybe I was just dreadfully tired and on-edge…or maybe it had something to do with what I was feeling for the man who was presently dosing out in the car.

I was then led to an office where two men, the director's assistants, were busy on their computers. When we entered they sat at attention. "The one on the left, here, is Brendan. He will pick up anything you might need for your stay and deliver it to you. Have a seat here, and we'll soon get you on your way. I understand you have an under-the-weather companion?" "Yes, he's fairly drowsy and unsteady on his feet, but I'd say he'll be himself in no time…" although part of me wished I could take care of him forever. _Archer really doesn't need much taking care of though, or at least, that's the sort of attitude he maintains…we'll see. _I took a seat in front of the desk and began to think about what we might need. _There will be plenty of food and drink there. I've got enough clothes for now. Archer only has what's on his back. _"You look about his size, Brendan. Do you think you could pick up some clothes in your size? The shirts ought to be a bit broader through the shoulders, though…and some medical supplies: gauze, large bandages, and antiseptic ought to do the trick. If it's not too much trouble, some strong liquor might be beneficial as well. I think that should hold us over." Brendan diligently scribbled the list of my orders and said pleasantly, "Yes ma'am, of course." Thankfully, the whole process was 'as simple as that.' The director appeared in the doorway and led me back to the main hallway. "Feel free to let me know if you should need further assistance. Brendan will be by shortly with your supplies…and we've equipped your quarters well. Think of this as…a vacation…far from the dangers of Sierra Leone." _Alright, _I thought, _but it'll only turn into a vacation when Archer's back to his fully functioning, obnoxious (yet unusually attractive) self. Until then, I'll be on-edge like no other._

Somewhere amidst my rambling 'thank you' about a trillion times, I wound up back in the Land Rover. A weak, raspy voice next to me said, "Hey…how's it?" "We're set…we get to go on a vacation," I answered. "Alright, count me in." I giggled- _giggled_- at his never-failing sarcasm.

And we were off.


	4. Chapter 3: Almost

Chapter 3: Almost

Chapter 3: Almost

Through his rough young life, he's developed an encasement of cynicism that keeps everyone _out._ He certainly stands out, which is why his peculiar guarded nature caught my attention. As a connoisseur of words, I'd say that he is a living paradox. He's classically _beautiful_, like an old-time Hollywood actor, and he's as charming as could be without any effort. To contrast what anyone would surely perceive of his personality, he is actually a loner; he cared for no one by choice. I guess it was somewhat simple for _me_ to figure out why he was the way he was- all it took was a bit of prying (I have a knack for prying; that's why I've made a career out of it), a rough day, and some palm wine.

_I remember:_ "…boo-hoo right?" He had just revealed the horrific fate of his parents. He was only nine years old. I wondered how a child of that age- having seen such tragedy- could learn to live again. "Ah, what's the point then…" he asked shakily as his head fell wearily into his hand. I realized that he hadn't lived since then. Sure, he was living, but he wasn't _alive._ The smuggling, fighting, not giving a shit- all that apparent roughness was holding him back, and as I watched him there, memories flooding back, I knew that he had a heart that was capable of being revived. In opening up to me, he had taken the first breaths of a pseudo new beginning.

Before I could even think, my hand ventured up to his face. At the instant of contact, he raised his eyes and gave me his characteristic stare, only this one was complete with the threat of tears. I didn't expect his skin to be so soft; in fact the contact felt so _right_ that my hand may as well have been glued to his face. I caressed gently, and his stare persisted until a single tear drifted down my hand. I couldn't take it anymore. I jolted both of us out of the night's stillness by moving from my seat in front of him to the one at his side. My abruptness gave him the chance to sober up a bit, but before he could collect himself, he was wrapped in my embrace. Quite surprisingly, he didn't flinch. He settled into my arms and even dared to lay his head on my shoulder. We remained that way for an eternity, both of us afraid to make another move.

At some point, I realized that he had drifted into a still slumber. Had it not been for the threat of rebel attack, I would have stayed out there with him all night. To my dismay several cracks of a distant uzi forced us both back to attention. The initial fear in his eyes was uncharacteristic, and to this day I _swear_ that I felt his still-near body tremble. "We should get inside," I stated quietly. He nodded and helped me to my feet. We made our way silently to the room that we were to share. He began making a nest for himself on the cold floor, and I insisted that we could share the bed. "If you sleep down there you won't be able to get up in the morning," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "It wouldn't be the first time, huh." Our smiles met briefly, and he glared out the window while I settled into possibly (due to the day's horrors) the most comfortable bed I'd ever encountered. I lay on my side and felt him slide under the blankets. "Goodnight, Maddy," I heard him whisper through the darkness. "Sleep well," I returned…holding back all the things I _really _wanted to say. My thoughts consumed me and prohibited sleep.

A grenade exploded frighteningly close to the house, and its proximity knocked the wind out of me. Archer was already sat up in bed, eyes transfixed on the window, as if rebels would come streaming in at any second. I unconsciously searched for his hand and found it clenched into a fist under the covers. Recognizing my fear, he intertwined our fingers and lay back down. Without words, he gently tugged on my hand until we were face to face- close enough to feel each other's breath. Before either of us could find the courage to make the next move, we were dead asleep.

By midmorning the next day, we had said our awkward goodbyes. I clung to the chance that he would find the stone and call me, like I'd ever-so-suavely suggested. I inherently knew that making it out of the bush alive would be a miracle; this was a constant nagging, haunting reality. When I picked up my phone and heard his cracking voice two afternoons later, I knew that everything was either alright or dreadfully wrong…


	5. Chapter 4: Home

Chapter 4: Home

Chapter 4: Home

Memories of that night at Benjamin's and his voice over the phone drifted back to me as we drove to our temporary abode. _All that's over now, _I kept telling myself, _we can start over._ The apartment was situated in a quaint little village overlooking the city and the cataclysmic Atlantic and Indian oceans. From the hilltop, the cape shimmered brilliantly as the sun drifted lazily off to the west; dusk was only several hours away from engulfing Africa's southern tip.

The Land Rover drifted to a halt in front of a shaded bungalow, the last building on the hilltop alley. The final stop brought Archer back from his state of unconsciousness, and he tried to get on his feet a bit too quickly. His head ended up in his hands as he tried to fight the dizziness. "Easy there," I said as a groan of pain escaped him. "You're going to have to take it easy for a while." "Ja, ja…" We eventually got into the apartment…me half-dragging him until we finally made it to the place's single bedroom. My attempted gentleness failed as both of us collapsed in a heap on the bed. Again, his lungs couldn't catch up with him, and he clutched his chest in agony. It was most painful for me; knowing that there was nothing I could do to ease the pain was unbearable. Nevertheless, his body eventually decided that sleep was more of a priority than trying to stay awake; he was out once again.

This gave me the opportunity to explore our little bungalow. The view was breathtaking; from the bedroom balcony, fierce ocean slammed age-old rocks below, while calm shores lined a cove just to the east. I turned around and gazed past the low roof, and my eyes were surprised at the intimidating outline of Table Mountain, which I swear I could have reached out and touched in such close proximity. There was a lovely hot tub carved into the native stones that separated the house from the surrounding wilderness, and I couldn't help fantasizing about _us…_relaxing…in it later on. We had a tiny kitchen and dining area, which opened up into a bright, window-filled, sitting room. I made my way back into the bedroom to keep vigilance. He hadn't moved since I left him to do my exploring. Unsure of what else to do, I sunk into a large, cushiony chair that had been placed beside the bed.

The instant I let out the breath…that I didn't realize I'd been holding…I heard a faint knock at the front door- Brendan. I pulled myself up and headed quietly into the sitting room to get the door. I was greeted by Brendan's pleasant smile and an even more pleasant-looking collection of food and clothing. "Hello, Ms. Bowen. I've brought your requested supplies." I was ecstatic. As I rambled about how thankful I was, we carried several bags into the kitchen. After Brendan left, I felt like a kid at Christmas. One bag was overflowing with food: fresh fruit, scones, nuts, fish, and beef, while Brendan had stocked another with bottled water, native beer, and an oversized bottle of Archer's favorite- palm wine. In a third, larger bag, a generous stock of bandages, gauze, pain medication, and antibiotic ointment was buried underneath several pairs of boxers, undershirts, loose cargo shorts and pants, button-down shirts, and beach sandals. I wondered if I had missed something- like signing up for a personal concierge service. I already had a great deal to thank headquarters for- this was astounding.

I carefully stored our food supply and made sure the necessary medical items were ready for use. Upon returning to the bedroom, I wasn't surprised to see that Archer hadn't moved an inch. I carefully folded his new clothes and placed them in the closet, unpacked my own small bag that I'd had with me and put my clothes next to his, and stood in front of the his-and-hers closet I'd just put together almost admiringly before placing the final item- my laptop- on a bedside table. Again, I sunk down into that chair that felt like heaven for the few seconds I'd enjoyed it (before Brendan arrived). I don't remember exactly how long it took me to fall asleep, but the last thing I recall is the appearance of brilliant stars over the Cape as night fell.

I awoke early the next morning to find that Archer had shifted in his sleep, but it was clear that he would probably stay that way for a while. The rest was doing him good. Plus, I had some extra time on my hands to come up with yet another plan. I got us out of Sierra Leone, I got us a safe place to stay, and I made sure that I was capable of taking care of him. Now, I wondered, how in _hell_ am I going to tell this 'hard case' how I feel? Of all that I'd endured in the last few days, _this _dilemma was possibly the most difficult to crack.

I got up stiff-necked and padded over to the bed to lay my hand on his forehead (an excuse to touch him). He was still feverish, so I laid another blanket over his chest in hopes that it would fight off any further ailments. The adjoining bathroom had been well stocked with white fluffy towels and washrags. I grabbed a rag and wet it under the tap so that I could dab away the blood that had escaped a cut above his left brow. I found that several cuts similar to the one I initially noticed had spilled his blood as well…behind his ear…where neck met broad shoulder…What he really needed was a bath to wash away the blood, mud, pain, fear, and uncertainty. I held onto a notion that once I cleaned him up, he would be able to be at peace with himself…and to open up to me.

When the cool water made contact with fever-burning flesh, he stirred and slowly came to. His vision must have been blurry, as I was initially greeted with a confused, hard stare. "It's just me…go back to sleep," I said quietly, but his awareness had returned by then. Realizing he was safe, his eyes softened, and he focused on me. "Oh, so you're in charge now, huh?" he groaned as his right hand came up to wipe his eyes. "That's right…until you're up to being your usual self, at least," I smiled as I caught his hand and eased it back to his side. "Easy there, you've just stopped bleeding," I warned, "Don't ruin my hard work." He sighed, "Yes, Dr. Bowen," and closed his eyes once again. The last comment was priceless. Without opening his eyes, his hand drifted once again. Only this time, it found mine and gently intertwined our fingers.


	6. Chapter 5: Skin

Chapter 5: Skin

Chapter 5: Skin

I have a theory: the only comfort he knows (or has known from me) is in the form handholding. Since that night at Benjamin's, our affection toward each other has consisted of only this much…aside from that rare instance when my hand ventured up to his cheek. We haven't even shared a proper hug! Beside the point, it was plain to see that something deeper had grown. Based on his past, though, he knew no affection beyond that which I'd shown him in that short time. Thus, all he knew past his hard demeanor was to take my hand when he needed to be close.

I set aside my 'doctoring' for a while and was content just to lean against the headboard and hold his hand. His breathing was shallow and labored, and there was no hope for the type of deep sleep that lets the body ignore pain as it heals. He was in that intermediate zone, where one must fight for any sort of comfort.

As I sat there, it dawned on me that neither of us had eaten since our arrival in South Africa. He would be screaming for nourishment when he awoke, so I ever-so-gently left my watch post on the bed and whispered, "I'll just be in the kitchen," hoping that he heard.

The food situation was quite satisfactory: we had plenty to last us at least five days. My limited cooking skills enabled me to cut and mix fruit for a salad and to broil fish. I brought our meal into the bedroom on a tray, and just as I'd suspected, my Patient was awake and starved. Both of us managed to sit him up…a task that was far from effortless…and we stuffed our faces in silence.

"How was it?" I asked after he'd slumped back down.

"Outstanding, darling," he returned as he gave me quite a sexy look- the food must have given him enough energy to flirt.

"Good…I tried," I smiled, "…so if you're feeling well enough, maybe we could…or you could…clean you up a bit." There I was rambling again!

"What are we talking here, huh?" he inquired, fully taking advantage of my obvious nervousness.

"Anything to get you smelling decent, _sir_," I gave it right back to him.

"Then will you keep me warm again?" _He's such a smart ass…and I love it_, I thought to myself.

"We'll see. Come on," I laughed as I started the job of dragging him out of bed. Once I had him sitting up bedside, I knelt in front of him and placed my hands on his knees. He held his forehead in his hand for a moment before meeting my eyes. "I might fall over, alright?" he groaned. "I think we'll make it," I assured as I gently pulled him to his feet. After steadying him, we limped to the bathroom, and I started the bath.

As the tub filled and steam engulfed the room, I gently undressed him. It was impossible to be modest, especially when he wore only a towel around his waist. My hand trailed slowly up his toned belly and to his side where warm, soft skin turned into scratchy, blood-stained bandage. The catch in his breath from my touch was unmistakable, but I didn't dare meet his eyes- it was too soon. It was too soon to reveal myself (although I was nearly positive that he already knew).

Instead, I worked on removing the bandages as pain-free as possible. Tears burned the backs of my eyes when I noticed the deep bruising that had begun around the bullet wound, which was clean and neatly stitched. However, I knew that there was more damage on the inside, both physically and psychologically. Somehow, as I managed not to jump him, he ended up safely in the tub.

I pulled the vanity seat over to the head of the tub, sat down, and silently began washing his hair. Although I'm sure he knew that I wouldn't just leave him there to drown, I don't think he expected to feel my fingers running through his hair- neither did I. It was one of those things that I just did…unconsciously (sort of). I felt all of his tenseness escape him as his hunched shoulders dropped, and he leaned back far enough to rest his head on my knees. I washed his hair surely longer than necessary, but touching him felt so right- especially knowing that my touch made his features soften. Knowing that I gave him some peace was awe-inspiring.

He watched me intently in the opposite mirror as I followed suit with his face, neck, arms, and chest. When our eyes met, all I could spit out was, "I should go change the bed while you soak. You don't want to get back into dirty sheets." He nodded blankly, as if he'd been expecting something more profound or endearing from me.

Nervous (again), I found myself back in the bedroom piling dirty bedding on the floor before setting fresh sheets. _Get a grip,_ I scolded myself, _he's probably frozen in there by now._ I collected most of my wits and quietly went back to the bathroom where he had obviously been awaiting my return amid a mass of bubbles. He smiled faintly. "Hey," I said, "Ready to get out?" He nodded, but his eyes told me that there was something else on his mind.

As I knelt down to help him to his feet, his hand found mine and gently lifted it up to his face. He led my palm to cup his cheek, and as his eyes bore into mine, his lips gently touched each fingertip. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Suddenly we were both back at Benjamin's, the darkness and humidity surrounding us. It was as if that instant brought us back to that night and beckoned a _different_ outcome- one that came with healing, no pain.

He let go of my hand, which, under my own control, found its way back to his cheek. Without breaking our stare, my fingertips roamed the contours of his face. His skin, kissed by thirty-one years under the African sun, was as soft as I remembered. In the days since I had longed to touch him again, I tried to conjure that feeling over and over. Nothing compared to the real thing, though. His stare, however, had changed. Gone were the inner turmoil and hardness. Instead, there was clarity, as if at that moment, he knew exactly what he wanted.

As soon as that fleeting glimpse of his inner-self appeared, it was masked once again as he broke our stare. I actually had to shake my head to snap back into reality. "Let's get you out," I whispered. He nodded, eyes down. As soon as he stepped out, I wrapped him up in an assortment of towels before grabbing new boxers and undershirt. He was steady enough to dress himself, so I helped him back to bed once he was done.

I decided then and there that I _liked_ that look in his eyes that told me, 'I know what I want.' Still, I longed for the reassurance that what he wanted was me.


	7. Chapter 6: Air

Chapter 6: Air

Chapter 6: Air

Strangely enough, I avoided him for most of the day (even though he _was _asleep) in order to analyze what had happened (to no avail, alas).

We ate leftovers for supper in the presence of silence, once again. I watched curiously as he flipped channels on the ancient T.V. after cleaning his plate. He paused on a program broadcast in Afrikaans and appeared to be listening intently. "Do you understand it?" I asked, trying to ease the tension as I sat down next to him. "Yes- most of it. I learned some at school as a kid, and many of the boys in the company were native speakers," he replied. He quickly lost interest though, and his attention turned to the windows. "Couldn't have asked for a better view, huh?" he asked huskily, as he placed his hand just above my knee; his sudden touch filled me with that adrenaline-rush heat. "It's beautiful…and it's a warm night. You feel like some fresh air?" I asked, thinking that the scenery would inspire some spilling of certain feelings. "_Ja_, that swing looks inviting," he replied, referring to the hammock that swayed gently with the breeze.

I met him out on the balcony after running to grab a blanket. He laughed softly as I wrapped him up like a small child. "I must say, Dr. Bowen, you take _no_ chances." I smiled back and put on a mock stern façade. "You will _not_ start feeling worse under my supervision." He continued to laugh quietly (while clutching his chest). "Ja…Just being here with you makes me feel better," he returned, just barely above a whisper. His lack of eye contact told me that he was taking a risk with his statement but was absolutely serious. My plan was just beginning to work, and he was already making me melt.

I found his hand and held it tight against my thigh before opening my mouth to take a risk of my own. "We weren't meant to say goodbye that day at the base, were we?" I asked, curious as to how he would go about answering _that. _He thought for a moment, took in a breath and replied hoarsely, "No…and I'm starting to think twice about what I said…something like 'in another life maybe.' I don't think that's going to work…considering that…I'm not dead ...and since you _really _wanted me to call you." He exaggerated the 'really' and gave me a soft nudge. "I always got the feeling that when a woman gives you _all_ her numbers, she might be a little interested, huh?"

By that point, he was smiling, and _I_ was the one averting my eyes- I must have been _a bit_ red. "Well, you _are_ right about that." I was still trying to let what he had said sink in._ Looks like I was right. He's not as hardcore as he puts on…especially now that he's safe. He's got a heart, and I'm pretty sure he just implied that it belongs to me…Wow. _

He waited for me to speak as I failed to keep my emotions in check any longer. "I didn't want to say goodbye to you then…you must know that…and I don't want to loose you again." I finally met his eyes as mine filled with tears. Unsure of what to say or do, he shakily stroked my temple and studied the minor cut that I'd suffered during the chase into the jungle as if it was life-threatening. "You were bleeding," he remembered, "and I wanted nothing more than to protect you. It was the first time I'd _ever_ thought of anyone before myself." There was nothing left for us to say.

Never in my wildest dreams had I expected such a speech from Daniel Archer. All of his defenses were down, and I suspected it was a result of his vulnerability. He was hours away from certain death when I demanded, "You tell me where you are," and somewhere amidst the chaos, he must have realized that someone actually cared for him to live. (That's an understatement). For the moment, though, we were content just to be there, reassured. His hand moved from my face to my shoulder where it stayed for a while, as he drew me closer into a one-arm embrace. His left arm remained limp at his side, as soreness had spread from chest to shoulder; it was too painful to make any movements other than tiny ones.

The sea rocks beneath us were overtaken by the tide, and the rhythmic waves took us both under their spell. The moon came and went with the passing of light clouds as it drifted higher and higher into the night sky above Table Mountain. Glancing down at my watch, I found that it was past 10:00; the clean bed was calling. When 'bed' first crossed my mind, I remembered that I'd spent the night in a chair. _How's this going to work? _I wondered, _we're both so damn stubborn and awkward. Do I just get in bed with him? I should just tell him now. Why is that so hard? I'm afraid to be in love with him. That's it. The last thing I want to do is scare him off…because 'we Americans love to talk about our feelings.' Shit. _Again, I was tense, but my thoughts would have to wait.

As if on cue, his violent cough returned. He clutched his chest and fought for air. The medic had mentioned such a reaction as a result of scarring prohibiting the natural productivity of his vulnerable lung. His sudden spell scared me to _death_, but I knew it would not be the last time his body would suffer as such.

We were wrenched away from each other until I wrapped one arm around his chest and gently rubbed his back with the other hand. "Shhhh, it's alright." I whispered, trying to be soothing. Although he soon caught his breath, the rough coughing sent twinges of pain into his forehead. I figured we'd had enough fresh air for one evening, so we slowly trudged back inside. He clearly wasn't at his best, and as I helped him lie down, a groan of pain escaped him. "Damn bullet!" he managed through shallow breaths. My fingertips lightly brushed his cheek, causing his eyes to drift shut. I sat with him for a bit and waited until he fell asleep to finally leave the room.


	8. Chapter 7: Revelation

Chapter 7: Revelation

Chapter 7: Revelation

It was my turn to get cleaned up. While relaxing luxuriously in that tub, I was intensely hopeful that I'd soon be able to throw my arms around his neck and show him what love felt like. As cliché as that may sound, I've not always been giddy like this (it must be _him). _My three older sisters are all 'girly girls.' When we were kids, I remember watching them put on gobs of makeup, and I'd wonder why they weren't more interested in taking me ice-skating. I'm still the oddball- I'm the only one who's not married and possibly the only one with a sense of adventure. They're all married to good men, but I prefer my luck. As it turned out, though, I actually _did_ find myself a good man, in his own way.

The hot water sent me into some sort of trance, where I was completely relaxed and highly anxious simultaneously. I wanted Archer to heal…quickly, to feel safe, to feel happy, to feel loved. I had to admit to myself that, more than anything, I wanted him to love me back. Another part of me wanted our time there to move slowly, for I had no idea what would happen when our 'vacation' would ultimately come to an end. Once I was clean and seemingly capable of holding on to my emotions, I got out, dried off, and threw on my pajamas- boxers and undershirt, from Archer's new wardrobe.

I finished in the bathroom and walked quietly back into the bedroom expecting to see him fast asleep in bed next to the candle I'd placed on the bedside table. The candle burnt dimly on, but Archer was nowhere in sight. I stood and stared, eyes squinted, thinking that I could have been hallucinating. He clearly wasn't there.

I was jolted when the soft sea breeze entered the room and cooled my face- the balcony door was left slightly ajar. I padded suspiciously to the doorframe and stuck my head outside. "Archer?" I called quietly. A pair of brilliantly shining eyes, captured by the moon's glow, met my questioning stare. His expression was one of vulnerability, of apology for having made me worry. He must have known that I would have scolded him for going back outside; a blanket hung loosely around his shoulders as his defense. "Hey…you alright?" I asked, stepping closer but not wanting to intrude. It was clear that he had been stuck in deep thought. "Ja…just couldn't sleep, I guess." He paused. "I was just thinking out here." I stood there at a loss. _Should I stay, or does he want me to leave him alone? _"…Do you want to talk about it?" I asked shyly, hoping he'd open up to me again. His gaze was downcast, somewhat troubled, and I was already feeling shameful for having read too far into his prior words. _He regrets what he said earlier, I know it_, I thought, dreading the idea.

After an eternity of silence, he suddenly raised his head to face me, only now, his expression was one of semi-confident determination. He began to speak. "Maddy, I…I'm not one for feelings…you know that, huh? …But I've been talking nonsense from the day we said goodbye at Kono 'til now." I was dying inside, positive that he didn't want to pretend to be friendly anymore.

_After all, he's only interested in diamonds. _

"What do you mean?" I asked, unsure if he even heard my weak attempt to speak. "I mean…all that I've said was meant to avoid a truth that I've tried to ignore…because of the way I am…I guess. I can't lie to myself…or to you…any longer, huh?" I stood completely still, knowing that if I moved an inch, I'd fall apart into a million pieces right there. He took a single step closer to me without breaking our intense, almost frightening stare.

"I should have told you when I called you from the hill. I'm a coward for not having told you. I could have died right there, and you never would have known what I…_feel_…" He trailed off but waited desperately for me to say something or to at least breathe.

I blinked. "Tell me," I returned in the form of a pleading whisper. He collected the last ounces of energy left in his body to reveal himself.

"I'm in love with you, Maddy…"


	9. Chapter 8: Enigma

Chapter 8: Enigma

Chapter 8: Enigma

Silence. I couldn't move or speak. Inwardly, I was screaming, _Jesus, did he really just say that? _Every last bit of adrenaline in my body was coursing through me. He continued, probably out of sheer nervousness.

"You probably think that I don't know what love is. I guess…I didn't…until that night at Benjamin's when you took my hand in yours. It just felt right…safe…and I don't want to lose that. I know now…that I'm nothing without it."

"This is probably the last thing you thought you'd ever hear from me, huh?" His voice faltered. "…But I can't keep on without you knowing…or without knowing whether you feel the same…or not."

The next thing I remember is the cold wetness of my own tears as they fell lazily down my face. I was stunned…and was slowly becoming aware that I hadn't said a word the entire time. _You're such a coldhearted bitch. Say something! _I was inwardly scolding myself, positive that he'd given up by that point. My tears surely frightened him, for his determination faded into confusion and defeat.

"Archer," I breathed. He snapped back to attention.

"You're crying," he returned softly as he took another small step towards me. It was more of a question than a statement.

_Speak!_ "Yes, I um, I'm just a little overwhelmed." His eyes were still boring into mine…waiting.

I collected myself. "I'm just so…happy." The confusion in his face was priceless, and it made me giggle softly as the tears continued to flow. As cliché of a response as it was, it did the job. As his clenched jaw began to soften, I had to seal the deal.

"I'm in love with you…too."

We both began to laugh then, a response that neither of us was used to, and to see each other's awkward, out-of-character reaction only made the situation that much more ironic. Of course, our moment was once again put on hold by his condition; laughter induced the elusive cough. "Christ, this is really getting old, huh?" he struggled, while still grinning at me.

I couldn't stand the distance between us any longer. I stepped up to him and secured the blanket around his neck. Doing so had quieted him, as my hands lingered on his arms, which were hidden by the blanket. Feeling the same longing, he opened his arms, inviting me into his blanket shelter. The only barrier between us then was the material of our thin shirts, mine too large and hanging loosely past my waist. His was somewhat tight fitting, and it revealed the outline of that strong chest on which I longed to lay my head.

The blanket was wrapped snugly around the two of us then, but we were too entranced to realize that it was no longer needed; never have I felt such heat in an embrace. When my arms snaked around his waist, I felt his breath catch, and what I'd speculated all along about his lack of experience with loving/comforting gestures became a reality. He'd never been held like that.

At that moment, I was filled with mixed feelings. Part of me wanted to go on some sort of rampage to make suffer those who had kept this man from living. I wanted to punish someone, to get some sort of sick revenge for him. Another part of me finally found its solace. He was safe, he _knew _he was loved, and he loved me back. I had everything I wanted. _Relax!_ I told myself, _everything is going to be fine. We need to take this slow, to savor it. He's yours. For his sake, relax. You both can afford to forget about the rest of the world for a while._ Satisfied with the mindset I'd chosen, I was drawn back to the present by his husky voice.

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

I shuddered in remembrance of the same words he'd spoken over the phone several days before. Only then, the circumstances had been quite different. He thought he would die right there on that hill and that 'in another life maybe' was our only option. He knows now that I wouldn't let that happen. At that, I tightened my already-fierce grip around him and let my lips brush against his bare collarbone as I whispered a barely audible "Archer..."

The sudden intensity of lips on skin had awoken something in both of us, a longing that was kept buried underneath our respective worries since our first encounter in Sierra Leone. When I raised my eyes, I found him already waiting for me, eyes aglow with moonlight, unshed tears from newfound emotion, and passion above all. It was _almost_ like seeing him for the first time- like he was a completely different person. Then I realized that _this_ person had been there all along; he was just waiting to be set free. He was absolutely perfect.

My hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him close enough to rest his forehead against mine. We slowly leaned into each other, and when our lips finally met, I realized that _neither_ of us had lived until that moment. Kissing him felt more extraordinary than I could have imagined (he's turned me into a fanatic, mind you). He was strikingly gentle and giving- sentiments that I hadn't expected from him for our first kiss. I, too, desired to give to him, as the knowledge that _my_ lips made this man tremble was enough to send me over the edge. Blissfully unaware of the rest of the world, we stood there clinging to each other as the kiss become more passionate, if that was possible.

When neither of us could breathe, which happened all too soon, we stood in a tight embrace and swayed lazily with the sea breeze.


	10. Chapter 9: Tranquility

Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate the feedback. School is about to start, so I apologize ahead of time if I update less frequently. Rest assured that the story is far from over, and I'll keep writing as much as possible (because it's _so fun!)_. -Kate

Chapter 9: Tranquility

Chapter 9: Tranquility

I was positive that he wouldn't initiate the next move. After all, he'd already jumped off a potentially deadly cliff with his revelation. _Thank God I do feel the same way. Otherwise, 'awkward' would have a brand new definition: us. _I would have to guide him down this road, to begin with at least. I knew he'd learn quickly; I knew that underneath that sardonic, stone-like demeanor, there was someone yearning to love as much as to be loved.

I contemplated saying 'you need to go back to sleep,' but found that unsuitable. Instead, I implied that the bed was too big for just one of us. "_We_ should get to bed, hmm?" He sleepily lifted his head from my shoulder and whispered "alright" before leaning in for the softest of kisses. Although we were content where we were, we both knew that rest was priority. Plus, the idea of us lying together was certainly inviting. I gently guided him back into the bedroom, my arm wrapped loosely around his waist. When we reached the bed I sat him down and waited for him to catch his breath. He soon looked up at me, hesitantly reached out for my arms, and weakly pulled me to stand between his legs. I, in turn, carefully set his hands on my waist, telling him with my eyes how much I wanted to be close. I could tell by the look in his eyes (the 'I know what I want' look) that his desires mirrored my own, but he had absolutely no idea which words to choose.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" I asked shyly. Apparently I couldn't find the right words either- it was a silly question.

He smiled softly, and I saw that signature spark in his eyes in the half-light. "Do I _really _have to answer that, huh?" he asked, beckoning me closer.

"Yes," I smiled back, as my hand drifted to the soft skin of the back of his neck.

He took a breath and returned his attention in the form of a piercing gaze that radiated seriousness. "There is nothing I want more than to fall asleep in your arms…you know that?"

_Thank God that's settled,_ I thought with an inward sigh of relief.

He continued, "…And I do recall mentioning something about you keeping me warm again…while you were taking my clothes off earlier, remember?" _Jesus, that smile!_ _(He doesn't miss a thing, does he? I don't think I'm capable of melting any more than this!)_

"Hmm, yes I do. Tonight must be your lucky night then," I smiled, "…and mine." Half expecting him to ask if I'd take his clothes off again, I slowly eased his shoulders onto the sheets and tucked him in tight. Like a child, I tip-toed to the opposite side of the bed and crawled in next to him, giddy and drunk on his scent.

When there was less than a pillow's length between our bodies I felt him shift, and I instinctively reached out to help him. He had turned onto his side to face me.

His eyes looked intensely tired, however, deeply satisfied. It still intrigued me to see him that relaxed…that _happy_…and eager to be held. He had let go of essentially everything in one night, and I wondered if I _really_ had that much of an effect on him. Of course, I knew he was only putting his deep losses aside to revel in a new, positive set of emotions. I wondered if what we had- the mutual feelings that we had just officially established- were enough to set him free from a life without peace and comfort.

At that instant I silently promised myself- and him- that I'd be there to help him through this healing process and beyond. After all, we both knew that this wasn't about personal gain or sex (well, maybe a _little…)_. No. Instead, it was an unspoken understanding that he was it for me, and I was it for him.

Something in each of us spoke early on, telling us that there was no one else. Thankfully, despite our identical knack for stubbornness, we both ultimately listened to that voice. I was never the type to believe in silly miracles or seeing everything laid out before me in an instant, but to this day I _swear_ that that first kiss told me everything I needed to know. I hoped- _prayed_- that our love would amount to a strong enough force to erase all but his physical scars.

So, there we were lying face to face. We found that our fingers had intertwined once again- his doing. Not entirely sure of what to do, I studied his hand carefully and traced the lines of his palm with my fingertips; I retraced the contours with my lips. As I did so, I raised my eyes to find him absolutely entranced in the moment. Letting go of his hand, I slid closer and gently lifted his chin. "Shall we stay like this?" I asked softly. He nodded, still entranced, and I kissed him one last time before hearing him mumble a drowsy "I love you."

"I love you too…sleep well," I returned as I tried to settle our bodies in preparation for the long ensuing slumber. I rejoined our fingers and laid our conjoined hands between us. My other arm draped around his waist.

I remember staring contentedly upon his sleeping face and reveling in the fact that he was safe in my arms. I was sure, then, that I would be infinitely happy to never move from there., to stay right there with him forever. I'd never felt that way before. All my life, I've had a nagging urge to get up and move as soon as I've been in one place for too long. Bosnia, Afghanistan, Sierra Leone- I go where I'm told, but I think I'd still move around even if not for the job; I'd do it for personal satisfaction. Probably the only reason New York City suits me is because it's so alive; it's always dynamic, always changing.

With him though, I longed to slow down, to be still. He once called me an 'action junkie,' but I corrected him: According to 'three out of five ex-boyfriends recently polled,' I prefer to live in a constant state of crisis.

Not with him, though- we've been through enough crises together, I'd say. Thus, I think I've noticed a bit of a paradigm shift in my wants and plans…hell, even in my personality. Danny Archer makes me want to _settle down_. Now _that's_ ironic.

I didn't want to sleep. It must have been for fear that when I woke up (if I wasn't dead already) the events of that evening would have been figments of my over-active imagination. Instead, I tried to thrive on the adrenaline that had undoubtedly accumulated due to the feeling of his lips on mine. Lying there, I hung on each labored breath he took and tried with immense focus to keep my hand from wandering under his shirt whose thin material taunted me endlessly.

As the rush inevitably came to an end, I was satisfied to be lulled off to sleep by such pleasurable feelings and sounds: the steady pulse in his hand (still attached to mine even in sleep), the heat that his closeness radiated, the shallow exhale that was a wrenching albeit joyous sound (although in pain, he was _healing_), and the ambient waves (loud enough to consume our bedroom but soft enough to become the comforting soundtrack to our slumber). All too soon, my alertness slipped away into tranquility.


	11. Chapter 10: Waking

Chapter 10: Waking

Chapter 10: Waking

When I awoke, the room was filled with the early sun's gentle light; it must have been around eight. I had shifted a bit onto my back, and it took me a moment to realize that I wasn't the only one in that bed. I turned back onto my side and glared into the light to find a pair of considerably bright/awake eyes fixed on me- he had been waiting for me. "Good morning," I half-giggled, half-groaned. "You're up awfully early."

"Ja, I know," he returned too quietly and continued, "I was waiting for you to wake up. Couldn't sleep anymore."

He was being so quiet, and I grew concerned that his healing was regressing. "You alright?" I questioned.

He must heave read into my worries, so I was rewarded with the 'sexy smile,' which immediately chased away my fears.

I shook my head and turned to sheer bluntness. "How in _hell_ have I managed to keep my hands off you, hmm? You _know _you 'had me at hello!'"

He laughed quietly, "I don't know. How have you managed, huh?"

_Well-played, sir…_I mused…_you're a pain, but I have to admit that being teased has never felt so fine._

"Well, suffice it to say that I'm not going to keep them off anymore…if that's alright with you…"

I didn't even wait for him to answer. Nor did he even bother trying to. We erased the modest position we'd somewhat maintained through the night, and with a soft groan, he flipped onto his back and drew me close with his good arm. I propped myself up on one elbow while my other hand drifted from his cheek to defined jaw and on to his neck. He was practically begging with his eyes for me to go in for the kiss, which I gladly did. Too sore to move, it was up to me to do most of the work (I _know_ he was a little frustrated about _that_- Mr. Control). Nevertheless, the kissing grew more passionate than it had the night before (if that was utterly possible), and it did so quickly. I had just begun to savor the newfound glory of his neck when I realized that he was fighting for his lungs to keep up with desire- the lungs were losing.

"Shhh, it's ok, try and breathe deep," I tried to soothe. _Good job, Maddy, you've killed him,_ I thought glumly. When he'd settled down a bit (but still clutching his chest), I stroked his temple and whispered, "Sorry, love. Just tell me when to slow it down, hmm?"

He smiled wryly, "But I don't _want_ you to slow down, huh? Ah, hell, I'm useless," he sighed, referring to his inability to match my…effort.

I gave him an understanding smile and leaned down to kiss his nose. "I have to disagree with you there." _Pillowtalk with Danny Archer- who would have thought?_

I thought back suddenly to the morning we headed to Guinea to find Solomon's family. It was one of those days when, during the few moments I had to myself, I questioned Danny Archer's merit. To any reporter, his 'good' intentions were about as fake as could be imagined. At that point, I could see right through him, and it was obvious that he could have cared less about Solomon's family.

There was something remarkably different, though, between that trip to Guinea and the trip back.

On the way there he slept; he was clearly unaware of the roar of the helicopter as well as Solomon's pain (or immune to it), so he dozed with ease after having arranged himself among sacks of food for the refugees. He was such a paradox: amid all that suffering, here was a man who literally slept easily atop the little bit of comfort those refugees lived for. He was a white African king there, with an air of strength in his jaw even in sleep, as if to say, "Don't fuck with me, or I'll shoot you." Little did we know, then, that although he portrayed such a stern image, it was his own suffering that stole the ability to feel for anyone else.

After quite a scene at the refugee camp, we were back in the helicopter (sans Solomon's family _and _hope for retrieving one of the many children kidnapped by the R.U.F.). This time, Archer sat awake and quiet, likely contemplating how far away from there a single rock could take him. Suddenly, Solomon spoke, and Archer raised his eyes for the first time en route. "What you are looking for, Mr. Archer, is down there beyond those hills." His eyes curiously followed Solomon's forlorn gaze. I didn't bother looking out the window. I just glared at him, and it must have been _quite_ a glare, for it made him lean back further into his corner. His eyes were certainly full of mixed emotions (_"Maddy hates me for this. Wait, why should I care what she thinks? Why the hell do I care?")_ I, on the other hand, was at war with myself. Sure, I was furious that he had indeed used Solomon for his own selfishness, and poor Solomon wasn't exactly getting his side of the deal. The bulk of my anger was due to this fact.

However, there was something else. What he _wanted_ was beyond those hills…along with staggering heat, thick wilderness, steep inclines, lack of provisions, and (oh yeah…) bloodthirsty rebels that would love to skin a white boy with pretty blue eyes...

Would he really subject himself to those dangers for a diamond? Stupid question; he _did_, and he paid the price. I was angry with him for blindly risking everything. _How can he be so stupid? Why do I even care?_

It wasn't until later on at Benjamin's that I actually figured out _why_ he made me so mad.

I couldn't lose him. _That _was why.

"What are you thinking about, hmm?" He must have sensed that my mind was elsewhere.

I wasn't sure if he was ready to see my vulnerability or how much his near-death experience _really_ hurt me, but he had to know. "I…um…I just don't want to let you go."

He took in what I said; I could see the wheels turning. Then he replied matter-of-factly, "Then don't let go," as he hesitantly touched my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere…unless it's with you, huh?"

That made me smile. I was still partially in shock from waking up with him (did he _really _tell me he loved me last night?) so my choice of words was still driven by emotions that couldn't possibly settle down. I think he understood my fear- I could see it in his eyes, and I think that's why his response was meant to lighten the mood.

I kissed his forehead. "Then do you want to come have breakfast with me?"

"Ja, alright. Maybe it'll give me some energy, huh? I could use some of that."

And with that, we began a new day.


	12. Chapter 11: Nesting

Hello, everyone. I haven't forgotten about this story. I've been writing it little by little while away at school. With the long holiday break coming up, I'm hoping to publish new chapters frequently- the ideas are still flowing. Thank you for your reviews! Oh, and you may have noticed that this story has moved; there is now an official 'Blood Diamond' category. No more Misc. Movies! More on the way!

Chapter 11: Nesting

Chapter 11: Nesting

The next several days were spent lounging around one place or another. We'd wake up, eat a few bites and usually head out to the balcony. I fixed us a sort of nest made of blankets and pillows on the hammock, and we spent hours out there watching the tide come in and out.

We made a game out of who could spot the most breeching sharks in a day- a sight that scared me to death when I first saw a Great White burst through the water, mouth open and teeth glistening in the sun. "It must have spotted a seal," Archer said matter-of-factly.

"Jesus…" I was still wide-eyed from seeing the beast up close, and my man was quick to catch on. "Ja, and he's coming after you next, love. Land shark!" (A/N- 'Land Shark' is an old Saturday Night Live skit). He started to laugh and then remembered how painful it was.

"Aren't you funny today," I laughed as I lightly nudged him. "I love those old skits."

"Ja, me too. So, you want to go for a swim, huh?" He grinned, referring to the shark-infested bay. He saw the mock-terror spread across my face. "Don't worry, I won't let them get you, love."

He took my hand, laid it on his chest and closed his eyes. This had to be just like heaven…except for one thing- I needed to touch _him._ While his eyes were still closed, I loosened my hand from his grip and slowly let it wander under his shirt. He opened his eyes and searched mine, almost unsure of the unfamiliar gesture. I kissed him softly and tried to communicate silently. _I just needed to feel closer._ My fingertips lightly grazed his torso, feeling each muscle flex and relax…up and up to his chest until I found the place where I could feel his heart beat forcefully under my palm. This was exactly where I wanted to be. His skin was so soft until my fingertips found the tiny hillock of a scar. "What's this from?" I asked quietly. "That's just a little souvenir from Angola, nothing terrible." He must have decided to spare me the details. Either they were unimportant or too painful to recall to mind.

"I love your touch," he whispered after a moment. ."…So warm and soft…I feel safe. I've never felt anything like this." He sounded so innocent. I remembered the promise I'd made to myself several days earlier- that I'd always be there to help him heal. _Would he come home with me?_

"Would you come back to New York with me?" I must have vocalized my thoughts out of nowhere without even realizing it because when I came back from my reverie, he was staring at me awkwardly.

I almost panicked, but he spoke first. "You mean…you want me to come with you?" he asked quietly.

I had to smile. "Baby, there's nothing I want more….except to stay right here spotting sharks with you." That was the first time I'd ever called him 'Baby.' _What if he doesn't like New York. What if he doesn't want to be tied down to somewhere? But, wait, he did say that he wanted off this 'godforsaken continent,' didn't he? We're similar enough…I love that city, so he will too, won't he?_

"I love you, Maddy. So…wherever you are is where I want to be. I swear you're the only woman I've ever said that to. Christ, I never thought I'd settle down…then there you were. I don't have much to offer, but you have to know…I'm yours.

"So…is that a yes?"

He smiled, "Ja..._yes_. It would make me the happiest man barely alive to go to New York with you. Is your place big enough for the two of us?

I kissed his cheek, "Yes, the two of us and more." _Wow, did I really just imply children?_

"As long as your bed's big enough for both of us…that's really all I'm worried about, huh." There was that sexy smile again.

"You just need to worry about feeling better before we talk about beds being big enough and such.

He laughed softly. "Ja, ja alright. I love you, Maddy. You called me 'baby' a minute ago. You know that?"

"Well, I do recall that I'm not allowed to call you 'Danny.'" I exaggerated my begging eyes.

"I guess you can call me Danny now," he was trying to sound stern, but he wasn't a very believable actor anymore.

"Wow, we're really making progress, aren't we?" We both laughed softly and settled into each other.

Those were the last words we spoke before the sun swallowed the bay, and our eyelids grew heavy with sleep.


	13. Chapter 12: Turmoil

I did not forget about this story, I promise! More to come soon...

Chapter 12: Turmoil

Chapter 12: Turmoil

"_Danny boy, I need you to run as fast as you can to the trees on the edge of the pasture. Stay there tonight, and watch carefully. Don't come back to the house. Dad will come for you. If you don't see us by tomorrow morning, run to the Fullers' in Umtali. Do you understand me?"_

"_Ja, mum, but what about you and dad and the dogs?"_

"_We'll be alright, love. You've got to run now. Don't look back. We love you, Danny. Go!" _

_And with that, she shoved her only child out the door with forceful hands. A glance up the driveway proved his worst fears. A score of rebels from Mozambique drove radically towards the house. A friend of his from town once informed him that the rebels loved to take little European children's ears, so he slept with his hunting knife and a set of earmuffs. It was good logic for a nine-year-old. But something told him that these rebels were after more than his ears._

_He did as he was told, and when he was safe in the shadowy disguise of the trees, he looked back toward the house. He heard voices, but none of them were familiar. They weren't even speaking his language. Tears came when he heard a single gunshot, and for the rest of the day, he sat on the ground hugging his knees to his chest, and he prayed just as his mother had taught him. _

_Day broke sometime later, stirring him from a light sleep. He waited, but no one came for him. _

_She said he would come for me._

_What if they need my help? I know how to track and kill a baboon, and dad says the rebels are like baboons. I could help them. _

_Mum said not to go back._

_But they might need me._

_I have to go back… _

"I have to go back!"

I awoke to a fearful call next to me. We'd fallen asleep out in our terrace nest, and somewhere amidst our slumber the nightmares had begun. "I have to go back," he kept repeating, his hands clenched into unmovable fists. I had to get him to wake up.

"Danny, you've got to wake up. It's just a dream. Shhh, wake up."

He finally opened his eyes. His breath came in shallow gasps of air, and I wasn't sure if he realized yet that he was safe in bed and thirty-one years old…not nine years old back in Zimbabwe. When he quieted down a bit, I was able to convince him that everything was alright. I hurried inside to the bathroom and wet a clean washcloth to dab away the sweat on his brow. He raised his eyes to me.

"It was so real, like I was reliving it…and I saw her…my mum. I heard her."

I asked him if he had dreams like that often.

"Ja, every once in a while I'll see different parts of it over again. I never see my life afterwards- always before. It's like I still have a chance to save them, but then I wake up, and they're already gone."

He sat up and rested his forehead in his hand. I could see the furrow between his brows. He was in turmoil.

"I've thought about going back…just to be there one more time, huh? Do I owe that to them?"

Now I understood. He thought their death was his fault.

"Baby, there was nothing you could do. You were only nine." I had to say something. "Sometimes things happen…we can't explain or predict them. We just have to do the best we can, hmmm? Sometimes closure helps heal."

"I've always thought that if I went back one more time, I'd be able to let go. I haven't been back since."

He thought for a moment, and I gently pulled him close to me.

"Maybe…before I start over with you…I should go back. Would you go with me?"

I was almost surprised that he would want me to go along. He was always so private about his fears and worries that I thought he might want to do this on his own. Nevertheless, I was humbled that he would let me so intimately into his past and his future.

"Of course I'll go with you, Danny. I'll be right there with you." I was so drunk on the feeling of him lying next to me that I was in full ramble mode.

He relaxed a bit. "Thank you…huh." He paused. I don't even know what happened to our place, you know? I think I'd feel like…like I'd left without saying goodbye…if I didn't go back. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened otherwise, you know? I probably would have been a rich footballer by now, huh?" He smiled, and I tried to imagine a huge green pitch and a guy with "Archer" splayed across the back of a Manchester United jersey running up and down its length. It was _almost_ difficult to see…maybe because I was yet to see a soccer player who looked even half as good as _he_ did.

"Honestly…I wouldn't have you any other way," I reassured as I kissed the top of his head.

"I must remind you, darling, that you haven't _had_ me yet…" He intertwined our fingers.

_Oh, Dear Lord…please stop taunting me you gimp. If you weren't broken, I'd have jumped you a long time ago!_

"Oh, trust me…as soon as you're back to yourself we'll change _that."_


	14. Chapter 13: Magnificent

Chapter 13: Magnificent

Chapter 13: Magnificent

Inevitably, he grew stronger and more restless every day. As much as he loved to sleep, his waking hours became increasingly fidgety. It had been about two weeks since our arrival to Cape Town, and thankfully, he was able to move around on his own, his breaths coming easier. He swore that there was no more pain, but I stole several glimpses of him clutching his chest while he thought I wasn't looking. Furthermore, the bruising that had developed about a good deal of his chest and shoulder was enough proof that his body was still weak and distressed.

We were sitting out on the balcony, as usual, when his restlessness got the best of him. "Hey. You want to go down to the beach, huh?" he asked, as his fingertips absently tapped my thigh.

"Yeah, you sure you're up to it?" It was pointless to ask, but I took my role as caregiver seriously. Any regression in his condition would make me frantic.

"Yes, Dr. I promise I'll take it easy, alright?" He was pleading with me, and I _loved _being in control, but I knew he was desperate to be himself- his always talking, always moving, always making me absolutely crazy self- again.

"Ok, let's go!" I replied cheerfully to his surprise. He smiled brightly, his already ocean-like eyes shining brilliantly with the reflection of the sea that stretched out in front of him. _I fall for you all over again whenever I see that light in your eyes._

We made our way down the stone steps that led from our gated balcony to the sand below. To his utter joy (and my amusement), Danny managed to find an abandoned soccer ball amid the rocks at the base of the steps, and he kicked it ahead as we trudged along hand-in-hand, a stray wave occasionally engulfing our bare feet. We stopped walking when we reached a particularly lovely cove about a half-mile from our abode, and we began to pass the ball between us.

"I always liked football," he said absently while attempting to perfect the prestigious 'around the world' move. He failed miserably and heard my suppressed giggle. "I mean _soccer_, for any _Americans_ present," he pretended to correct himself.

"_Ja, ja_," I retorted, dramatically mocking the white Zimbabwean slang that was such an essential feature of his self.

His eyes grew wide with my rebuttal, not having expected to hear me talk back. In terms of eloquence with (pretend) verbal disagreements, he had found his equal in me. He left the ball in the sand and began to walk toward me. When we were face to face, I expected him to say something, but instead, he quickly swept me up into his arms and headed straight to the water's edge. I realized the immanent dunking and squealed like a little girl.

When he was ankle-deep in water he began to count slowly, "One…two…" He intended to throw me in at the count of three, but when he finally uttered the number, he instead pulled me closer and gently tilted my head toward his using the bend in his arm. "I've got you," he whispered. It was a statement of reassurance for me, and a declaration of masculine triumph for him. _I was his._

He kissed me softly as inland clouds rolled in and consumed our little piece of the coast. We didn't notice until a single raindrop made its way from the heavens to the tip of my nose. He lightly kissed it away, and in the time it took for him to gently set me back on my feet, the sky had let loose its heavy burden right on top of us. Danny couldn't exactly run, especially after having exerted the energy to lift me into his arms, so we jog-walked our way back to the stone stairway, laughing all the way.

When we finally got to the safety of the balcony, we were soaked to the bone, and one of us was fighting to breathe. He couldn't hide the pain at that moment, and I was trying to keep my wits.

"Shit, we've got to get you dry or you'll start hacking up a lung again…"

He laughed quietly and cut me off, "I'll be alright, Maddy." His voice was weak but determined. I led him inside the house and pulled him close to me as I began to unbutton his shirt. I was so worried about him regressing back to his near-dead state that I failed to realize that his breathing had calmed…except for the catch in his breath when I unzipped his shorts. He stood transfixed on me as he was clad in nothing but soaked, skin-tight boxer shorts.

I was in another world, fearing for his life, when he caught my frantic hands in his and held them tight. I finally met his eyes.

"I'm alright," he whispered once again. This time I heard him…and I understood. _Jesus, what have I gotten myself into now?_ I inwardly panicked realizing that this was the first time I'd seen him scantily clad when he wasn't dependent upon my care. He needed me in _other_ ways now…was I ready? _Yes…_

He placed one of my hands on his chest, and I felt the strong beating of his heart, the rhythm a bit quickened from my touch. "See? I'm still alive…don't worry, love," he whispered as he leaned in to kiss my eyebrow.

His body wasn't cold, as I'd felt it before. Now, I could feel heat radiating from him, silently pleading with me to press myself to him. I met his eyes, and they sparkled. _It's time now…_

I smiled up at him. "There she is," he laughed softly. "Are you going to finish what you've started, hmmm?" he asked, referring to the lone garment that hid him from me.

I nodded mischievously, "Eventually…but I need some help with this first." I began tugging at the hem of my soaked shirt, and he was delighted to slowly release me from my wet bind. He gently pushed my hair behind my ears and let his hands wander down my shoulder blades, always pulling me closer and never breaking our stare. I put my hands on his waist as my bra fell to the ground. Next, he reached between us to unbutton my linen pants, and I marveled at how perfectly they fell to my feet without a struggle.

My eyes fell upon the perfect contours of his chest (save for the slow-to-disappear bruising), and I became aware that for the last week he had been free of bandages, as his wound had healed relatively quickly. _He's alright, _I mused, _he's healed. It's our time now. _When I met his gaze again, he swallowed difficulty and looked at me as if he was afraid to hurt me. "Are..are you sure?" he mustered. His sudden lack of confidence was adorable; it was as if it had _finally_ sunk in that he was no longer broken, that I _actually_ loved him and that I was his. He didn't want to be so blunt anymore. For once, he wanted to give it his everything to prove himself…to prove his love.

"Danny," I whispered, "I'm yours…I'm sure."

And, with that, I led his hands to my chest and felt the desperation in his kiss. We stood holding each other, thinking that it couldn't feel any better than that, for an eternity. Both of us were barely clad, both having only one garment left to fuel the ever-increasing desire to let what was about to happen last as long as possible.

I reluctantly pulled away from him and padded slowly to the bed's edge to sit. When I reached my hand out to him, he took it and stood in front of me. I slowly laid back pulling him with me all the while until he rested his weight on his elbows above me. He was careful not to let himself touch me yet, and the electricity between us intensified, willing our bodies to touch; he would leave the first move to me.

I stared up at the perfect man above me. He was trembling so slightly, and I wasn't sure if it was the result of nervous anticipation or freezing rain. Whichever the case, there was too much space between us. With one hand cradling his neck, fingertips finding their way into his damp hair, I finally pulled him down to me, producing a soft moan from both of us. I could tell that he was so afraid of crushing me with his strength and desperation that he was holding back. "Don't hold back, love, I need all of you…"

And then, finally, he gave me all of him; every possible barrier between us was broken.

He ignited my skin with his kisses- each more electrifying than the last, and I memorized the feel of each scar on his neck and chest with my lips. We were both so eager to _give_ that night that I think all pleasure was felt on the basis that the other was being fully adored- after what seemed like a perfect eternity, I reached my height at the moment he said shakily, _"I've never felt anything like this before…"_ His lips brushed my neck as he spoke, and I was amazed that _I_ could bring a man to such a pinnacle of feeling…even though it was no surprise that he had the same power over me. When he lifted his eyes to me I kissed him fiercely, needing him as close as possible at that moment. With our eyes locked until the very end, we fed each other's desires completely.

It was absolutely…if I may be cliché…magnificent. We were brought closer than ever before, and as far as we were concerned, nothing could pull us apart. We had already cheated death; all that lay ahead was…_life_.


	15. Chapter 14: Revisit

More is on the way. I know it's been forever since my last update, and I am sorry - this story is almost complete. Enjoy, and stay tuned!

Chapter 14: Revisit

Chapter 14: Revisit

_Rough, scorching_…yet somehow romantic, a Hemingway-esque vision of Africa.

In the heat of the afternoon, those were the words I could scrounge to describe what had become a sort of expedition. Danny and I were huddled in the back of an open Land Rover amid aid workers and journalists in a convoy headed northeastward.

After a blissful third and final week in Cape Town, I'd returned to the director's office to thank him profusely for our comfortable stay and to inquire about entrance into Zimbabwe. He informed me of the convoy leaving from Johannesburg, and after several phone calls, the journalist and 'guest' were in.

We were sad to leave our little piece of paradise, and as much as we wished to never leave that bed overlooking the waters of the Cape, we knew that life had to go on. Next stop: Zimbabwe. We would visit his childhood home for what he said would be the very last time. He'd talked about never returning to Africa, but I could tell that he was fond of our Cape Town haven- "I wouldn't mind coming back here one day, huh?" he declared as we packed up our few belongings. I agreed.

We'd flown from Cape Town to Johannesburg city and met up with the convoy at a makeshift World Food Programme headquarters on the city's outskirts. After two long days of dirt roads, we'd crossed into Zimbabwe and were just a stone's throw from the town of Mutare and the Zimbabwe-Mozambique border.

As the Land Rover rumbled along throwing up dust in its wake, I looked up at the man next to me. He had just ended a long conversation with a fellow white Rhodesian named Franck who was brought up a few towns south of his own. I listened to them for a while until their similar dialects and use of slang made it nearly impossible for me to follow along with talk of old Cricket matches and their respective families' tobacco farms.

Franck eventually decided to rest his eyes for the remainder of the trip, whilst Danny sat pensively next to me. His eyes were locked on the horizon, squinted out of defense from the sun. His knees supported his elbows, and his chin rested on his closed hands. His hair had grown a bit during our nearly month-long hibernation, and he sat up straight when I swept a lock behind his ear. He turned to me and smiled gently before wrapping his arm snuggly around my shoulders. I'd missed his touch and the feel of his skin over the last few days; we'd had to get used to wearing clothes again.

"Almost there," he sighed. When we reached the city, we'd arranged to borrow one of the vehicles for a couple of days to explore the outskirts of what used to be the town of Umtali- the only home Danny had ever known.

We finally rolled to a halt in the middle of town, and the convoy workers started unloading aid materials. I'd already confirmed with the driver that we were to take the vehicle. Soon enough, we were off- just the two of us, once again.

It was a small, eclectic town. At its urban peak, there were paved roads, businesses trying to appeal to a bustling atmosphere, and an air of change all around. It was eerily different compared to the town Danny knew as a boy. Red sand roads, old beat-up farm trucks, general store, post office, and the school for white children where he learned about European imperialism in Africa and how to play cricket with other white boys. It was _almost_ a peaceful life then.

Despite the appearance of development, this fairly new establishment called Zimbabwe was far from ideal for the white farmer. The black governing body was slowly pushing remaining white farmers away from their homes and livelihoods and subsidizing land to black farmers. By the time Danny was sent to South Africa, prosperity in the nation was slipping away.

As an adolescent being groomed for the life of a mercenary far from home, he didn't have much time to consider what was happening to his country, though. He couldn't have imagined that life wouldn't lead him back there until over twenty years later; the sights, smells, and feelings were almost as unfamiliar to him as they were to me.

After about a half hour drive through the town, he had pointed out to me everything that looked familiar to him. His school still stood, as did the town's swimming pool beside it that used to be for whites only. Several homes along the main strip in the predominantly European side of town appeared as large and as representative of old tobacco money as ever. Many of the children he once knew lived in the area, and he related to me the many times he'd visited these homes, whose owners had been friendly acquaintances with his parents. "All the white people would stick together, but _we_ were still different," he said. "Why is that?" I had a feeling that it was because none of those old, somewhat Victorian-like fortresses ever belonged to the Archer fortune.

"We had money, and we usually took home more profit than the other families at the sale of the year's harvest. My parents, though- they weren't really into city life. My dad loved that farm, and he spent hardly any time indoors. He was always herding and tracking and checking up on the crop…and whatever other activity he could think of to keep from having to waste daylight. My mum- girly as she was- she put up with it just fine." He smiled lovingly at the memory of his mother. "She loved to explore our land with dad and me, and she took care of our horses; she'd grown up taking care of her grandfather's horses at his countryside manor in England. She'd cook like a goddess while listening to old records that family would send from back home, too."

"So your mom was British, then?" I was dying to know more about the people who brought him into the world.

"Ja, she was raised quite well between Newcastle and London, where she went to school and found my dad. He'd grown up between France and Denmark, where his mum and dad were from, respectively. He only wound up in England because he'd been pushed to go to Oxford. He did so, only to make his parents happy, and he was miserable until he found my mum. They were both budding adventurers, I guess you could say, and so after they married they left Europe with my uncle- my mum's brother- to start over in Africa."

"I bet your grandparents just _loved _that idea. Did they ever go back to Europe?"

"They were pretty pissed, ja. Eventually, they just realized that my parents were happy here, and they were well. That was that; they just got over it. When I was born, though, everybody back in Europe wouldn't let them keep a grandchild and nephew away. And, hell, it wasn't like _they_ were going to stop by for a nice visit in _Rhodesia_."

"So you went to Europe as a kid?"

"Ja, every Christmas, and for a summer or two when I was really little. Hated it, just like dad. Always wanted to get back to the farm so I could run around." He slowed the vehicle down as we drove along the red dirt roads beyond town. We'd just reached the summit of a fairly large hill when he pointed to the left. "See down there, just past the pond?" I squinted in the sun and followed his outstretched arm. "That's the house."

We didn't speak for the rest of the ride down the hill, along to the "pond" (which looked more like a small lake), and up the driveway to the rustic house. He stopped about fifty yards from the main building, and sat back in his seat. "Just how I left it," he said as if he'd just returned from a short trip. I followed his gaze.

The house was quite endearing, save for lack of care for two decades. Its stone facade seemed open and airy with lots of windows, and for a moment I thought I caught the scent of fresh tobacco leaves and his mother's cooking. There was a covered porch that made its way around the house, and it led to a circular patio next to what had been a large garden. I imagined the flowers and vegetables that must have been a daily treat to both feast upon and observe.

Danny cheerfully led me to each corner of his family's property. Despite the obvious tragedy, I think he was able to relive the happy times there. He showed me exactly where he had had his first hunting victory among the tall grasses and thorny trees. His father had told him how proud he was and let him carry his prize over his seven-year-old shoulder all the way back to his mother's kitchen. We sat by the pond where the herd would rest and drink, where he learned how to swim. We stood in his old bedroom, and he recounted where he used to hide all his treasures found over years of exploring land that seemed endless to the child adventurer. We did not go into the barn. Although he never _saw_ what happened to his father there, what he'd been told was enough warning. He was afraid of the images his mind would conjure should he open the latch and go inside; it was just too much- understandably so.

We stayed until dusk, when the sun's ensuing rest painted the sky countless shades of orange, pink, and purple. In my time spent in Africa, I'd come to adore the sunsets. For a place filled with such conflict, it's nice to know that the day ends with such vibrant color. It's as if, at the end of the day, God reveals his omnipresence in the sky. God hasn't left this place; He gave the man I love a second chance. Here, under _this_ vibrant sky.


End file.
